Chapter XLVIII
That sniper is really pissing him off.
First, Feitan. Now, Valtiel.
Chrollo doesn't have the patience to deal with said sniper when he has three people to protect. The moment the last bullet pierces through Val's shoulder, hearing her pained shout, the Phantom Troupe leader has lost all semblance of patience and finishes the deed instead, racing across the terrain and pinpointing the sniper's shiny black rifle.
He is dead within a blink of an eye. Chrollo leers down at the mess he made, the rifle's long barrel jammed into the poor man's eye socket. He takes a few moments to observe the area, all trees and mountains that surround the islands. He could feel more men lurking in the forest, but nothing too dangerous—for now.
He is about to return to the cave when a massive explosion shakes the very terrain, the earth trembling beneath his boots. His eyes widen when he notices the thick smoke rising from where the cave is, along with bright flames licking high up in the air.
No, no, no. His brain registers what's happening and immediately goes into a panic-stricken mode. He doesn't realize that he is running, sharp branches tearing at his coat and sleeves, the explosion still making the roads somewhat uneven. Valtiel—
When he returns to the site, he sees nothing but more smoke. Corpses from Valtiel's previous defense are littered on the ground, burning flesh and hair and clothes. He coughs at the disgusting stench and dares to step into the flames, one arm covering his nose and mouth.
"Valtiel!" he screams into the explosion, eyes watering from the smoke. He keeps circling amidst the fiery mess, like some lost child. "Valtiel, where are you?!"
Then his horror rises a hundredfold when he tries sensing for her aura, but it is not there. It's like she is using Zetsu, but Chrollo knows this is far worse. Even with Zetsu, his senses—especially at this rate—should still be able to pinpoint her.
But there is none.
She is gone, as if disappearing into thin air.
He growls under his breath and screams her name again. Fruitless, he knows, but he stubbornly thinks that somehow, she is still here. He grits his teeth. "Valtiel!"
Someone moans from behind him. Whirling towards the sound, Chrollo grunts as he pounces over the mess of burning bodies and emerges on the other side of the cliff.
Down there, at the very bottom of the ravine, is Hisoka—face down into the soil, limbs splayed like an eagle, the tourniquets of his broken fingers destroyed. Chrollo slides down the length and lands deftly on his feet. He crouches next to the magician, who is still moaning.
"Ah, Val," Hisoka groans deep from the throat. Apparently, the magician is not moaning from the pain—but from something else. "Oh, yes, right there, Val, ahh—"
Disgusted, Chrollo stands up again and toes the equally disgusting magician on the shoulder. Hisoka lets out another long, throaty moan before moving on the ground, heaving himself up on his hands and knees. He cranes his neck and looks up, red-purple hair dangling over his glazed amber eyes, meeting Chrollo's darker than usual gaze.
The corner of Hisoka's lips quirk just the very slightest. Teasing. Amused. A daredevil in the form of this insufferable magician.
"Oh," Hisoka croons, still looking up at the Danchou. He pokes his tongue out and gives a sensual lick over his top lip. "You're not Valtiel."
"No," Chrollo agrees, frowning. He knows Val is fond of this man, but the Troupe leader could not see anything worth liking.
A pervert, Val is fond of a pervert.
He keeps his face serene despite his blood boiling just beneath the skin. "Where's Val—" He pauses from the afterthought. "And Feitan?" He has been too worried about Valtiel to remember worrying about Feitan.
"I don't know." Hisoka stands as well, towering over the other man, making a show of stretching his aching limbs and legs. "Though I did have a delicious dream about her."
"That's enough," Chrollo rumbles, eyes narrowed threateningly now. Deep inside, he knows the magician is doing this for the shits and giggles, but he has no patience for this. "What happened with the explosion? Did you know what happened to them?"
"Mm, no." Hisoka tilts his head to the side, bangs framing his smug face. Any other person, the Danchou would have liked to punch that smugness out of him. But Hisoka is his Spider now, and most unfortunately, Valtiel's friend. She would not take it lightly if Chrollo starts a fist-fight like a high school delinquent.
His patience is officially at negative numbers at this point. Scoffing, Chrollo takes his phone and dials Shalnark's number. The younger Spider answers after two rings.
"The mission is cancelled for now," he says at once. "Tell everyone to regroup half a mile east of the lighthouse. Val and Fei have been taken by the Hunters."
With that said and done, he pockets his phone again and takes a glance at his infuriating companion. Hisoka gives him a cheerful smile. He still cannot see why Val likes him.
"Let's go," the Danchou says with a swish of his torn coat. "We'll have to regroup."
"Aye aye, Danchou!" Hisoka chirps, saluting with his mangled fingers.
Chrollo's dark eyes flash at him one last time, before he leads the way. The smoke above the cliff is starting to settle. Even then, he doesn't sense Valtiel or Feitan any more. He presses his lips into a thin line and keeps walking, out of the forest, rounding more ravines, and then towards the ocean where the sunlight makes the deep blue waves shimmer.
Seagulls caw overhead as the two Spiders walk. Chrollo is oblivious to the tropical beauty around him, remaining dark-faced as their new hideout comes into view—a shipwreck with the keel wide open, showing off its mossy wooden planks and rotting interior.
Some of the Spiders are already here. "What happened, Danchou?" Pakunoda approaches, her brown eyes flitting once to Hisoka. "Where are Val and Fei?"
"Taken by the Hunters." Chrollo nods to Machi. "Could you attend to his fingers please?"
Hisoka holds up both hands and wriggles the broken fingers in her face. Machi wrinkles her nose and produces thick cloth for the tourniquet. She works fast and precisely, Hisoka moaning again at the sensation. He catches Chrollo's quick disapproving glance as the leader draws Shizuku further from them, as if to shield her from Hisoka.
The rest of the group arrives on their boats, speeding and cutting through the shimmering waves. They have found more treasures in the few hours of their hunt. The leader nods in appreciation, staring at the treasures wrapped in grey cloth.
Uvogin picks at his ear. "So," he drawls, "Fei and Val were captured?"
Chrollo nods, his sour mood returning. "Yes," he grinds out. He turns to Shalnark, who flinches at his sharp gaze. "Is there a way for you to find out the group of Hunters associated with Solomon Islands? Any organizations, affiliations, sponsors? Their nearest base of operations, the hierarchy scheme, their associates and followers?"
Shalnark winces. Expect Danchou to be so thorough. "Yeah, give me a minute," he says aloud, whipping his phone out. "I can find out with my Hunter License, but I'll need a laptop and a very strong internet connection to do it. As it stands, we're in the middle of nowhere."
"Laptop and internet." The leader lists them off. "We'll get that for you." He turns to the right, towards Nobunaga and Franklin. "Could you arrange transportation for all of us? We'll need enough space for the treasures as well."
"Got it, Danchou!" The two men head off in a gust of white sands.
They end up hijacking a telecommunications headquarters to ensure that Shalnark has access to the fastest internet connection in the country. It is their luck that the office is a mere thirty minutes away. Killing the employees and customers is nothing short of easy—because it has been easy, especially when you have a dark-faced, glaring Chrollo Lucilfer with you.
Shalnark sets to work in the biggest office, surrounded by four flatscreen monitors, two routers, and two keyboards. Everyone is gathered behind him as he uses his Hunter License to pull up information about the protected nature reserve.
"Here we go—" Shal points a ballpoint pen at the massive bright screen—"The King Solomon Islands have been protected by Sea Hunters for some twenty years now. They are affiliated with Ochima. And here, as you can see—"
Chrollo inches closer, unblinking. He doesn't want to miss a single detail.
Shalnark senses the Danchou's apprehension from this close proximity. He fights the urge to shudder. "As you see here, it seems that Ochima has a treaty with Azia that collects criminals throughout their territories. Long story short: these two superpower continents have their personal streetsweeper that collects offenders along the way."
Phinks squints at the blinding screen. "It's called… the Leviathan…?"
"That's right!" Shal beams up at him and messes with more buttons.
He pulls up a photo of the black submarine, shaped like a sea dragon with sharp gills and horns protruding at the front. "It can house over a thousand prisoners at a time, but mostly the common petty criminals. The more dangerous ones are located towards the bottom."
Another screen, showing a long tunnel and a semi-circular chamber. "And this very last room is where they'd keep the worst ones."
"They'll keep Fei and Val there," Pakunoda chimes in from the other side of the circle.
"If you look here too—" That's Franklin, stretching a massive arm in between the heads of the others. He points at the submarine's body. "That's too many halls and chambers to go through."
"Ha!" Uvogin snorts all the way from behind. "That ain't a problem with my Big Bang Impact!"
"You do realize it's a submarine, right?" Bonolenov sighs, shaking his head. Uvo blinks down at him with a confused frown. "You can't just waltz in and use a high-powered Nen punch. You'll destroy the sub and kill everyone in there."
"I mean after we get Val and Fei!"
"How do you suggest we get all the way to the lowest chamber?" Nobunaga pipes up.
"Ugh." Uvo makes a face.
"I thought so too," Nobu says with a complacent smirk.
"I suppose our next action should be locating where the submarine heads," Shalnark interrupts, daring to look into Chrollo's face. He grimaces at the leader's still-glazed expression. Yup, he's definitely still very, off-the-charts pissed. They're all dead for sure.
Shizuku clasps both hands behind her back. "So how are we going to locate the submarine's direction?" she asks no one in particular.
Phinks scratches his nape. "Well, if they're collecting criminals in these parts, why don't we just create a big enough commotion and let them come to us?" he answers idly.
Everyone rounds towards him with dumbfounded looks. He flushes, a little pink in the cheeks, at the sudden unwanted attention. "What?! What are you morons looking at?!"
"It's worth a shot," Machi says, Kortopi and Pakunoda nodding in agreement.
"I wasn't listening," Uvogin cuts them off, "but I volunteer to whatever we're gonna do."
"Good." Franklin drops a big hand on Uvo's shoulder. "Because you're the best fit for it."
"Is this acceptable, Danchou?" Shalnark peeps up at Chrollo again.
This time, the Danchou's lips are pursed as he weighs his options. Despite his silence, he has been listening to every suggestion made, and Phinks's holds weight. If they couldn't locate an ever-moving submarine, they could draw it back to them. Sighing, he tears his eyes off the monitors and turns for the others. At once, they all behave.
He levels them with a thoughtful stare. "That can be done," he murmurs. "Make it a big enough show to let them know there are criminals to be apprehended."
Kortopi raises a hand. "Should we declare ourselves as the Phantom Troupe to catch their attention?"
Again, Chrollo considers. He is desperate to get Valtiel and Feitan back, of course, but not that desperate enough to use the Phantom Troupe name. If these Hunters and Leviathan people could abduct two of his people in broad daylight, then they have at least good enough skill to put up a good fight. He would not risk that. He would not risk more lives.
"No," he answers at length. "Let's do Phinks's suggestion—do something big and get their attention back to this shore." He blinks down at Shalnark. "Can you track the Leviathan's course using your Hunter License?"
"Ah, sorry, I can't." Shalnark smiles apologetically. "That's more classified information."
"I understand. For now, let's do Plan A."
Plan A didn't work.
Uvogin is more than happy to tear through a large financial conglomerate two hours away from their original base, but they do not get anything but weak police officers to answer the attacks. No matter how many people are killed, taken hostage, threatened—the most they get are black-clad intelligence and security service of the small country.
They wait for two days in total. There are no signs of Hunters rushing to apprehend them. No signs of the Leviathan force rising to the surface and collecting new prisoners. Once or twice, Chrollo contemplates on using the Troupe name to get more leverage, but he decides against it.
I'm not endangering the Spiders further.
Towards the third midnight, Nobunaga stretches his legs and absent-mindedly watches his toes wriggle in front of him. "Why don't we just find out where their base is and go from there?"
So, they change their tactics. Camped out at the base of a mountain, Shalnark manages to locate the Leviathan's nearest headquarters. Five hours from the nearest shore.
Plan B includes taking everyone at the base as hostages, and then threatening whoever is in charge to communicate with the Leviathan. Without their expert torturer and interrogator Feitan, the Spiders have to make do with tangling everyone in Machi's threads, slowly letting the transmuted threads cut deeper into their skins.
The captains, admirals, and everyone else scream their lungs out, but give no answers. Chrollo feels the vein in his temple throb with impatience. He snatches the highest-ranking commander from the skin of his neck, stashes him inside a cubicle. A sharp stench of blood wafts from the inside, followed by much whimpering from the commander. When Chrollo steps out, the Spiders catch a glimpse of the commander's dismembered arm.
The Danchou lets him rot there for hours without food, water, and oxygen.
When he is ready to talk, the commander gasps for air and holds up his remaining arm. "Please!" he shrieks, trembling at the mercy of the Class A bounties. "I'll—I'll call the warden!"
Chrollo's emotionless mask never wavers. "Please do," he says thoughtfully.
The commander scrambles for the receiver and takes a shaky breath. The rest of the Troupe surrounds him, like wolves ready to devour a lamb. When he receives no answer from the other line, he swivels in his chair and swallows hard.
"I'm through with all this useless bullshit," Phinks growls from behind.
"Useless as this one right here." Nobunaga jabs a thumb in Hisoka's direction.
Hisoka offers a soft, polite smile.
Rolling her eyes, Machi puts both hands on her hips. "The Leviathan is not answering. They've abandoned their own headquarters." She watches closer as the Danchou's face goes even darker, if that is even possible at this point. "What shall we do now, Danchou?"
Without missing a beat, Chrollo says, "Kill them all."
Plan B didn't work either.
The rest of the week is uneventful. The Spiders try every possible way to locate the submarine, but it is forever moving, its course unpredictable, spanning two massive continents in the eastern part of the world. No matter where they go, the Leviathan would be three days away from them. No matter who they threaten, the warden seems to be adamant on not receiving any calls or requests.
Only Ochima or Azia could faze the Leviathan's warden, perhaps. At their latest base, they have a big map that dominates the entire wall—as if they would help them locate the submarine.
Glaring at the map now, the only last resort Chrollo could think of is Plan H—wage war against the two continents, and see how long they crumble until the warden gives up Feitan and Valtiel.
The night is warm and crisp, smelling so much of forest pines and earth. The Spiders are huddled around the fire, taking a rundown outpost as their base for now. Bonolenov has made dinner, while Machi and Shizuku are passing the bowls around, offering it to everyone.
"Thank you, dear Machi," Hisoka hums as he receives his share. His fingers are healed, free of their tourniquet and no purple bruises. "You're very kind."
"Right," is all Machi says before approaching Pakunoda. She sits down next to her friend and warms her hands against the bowl. Her voice drops into a low whisper. "No changes, huh?"
"Not in the slightest." Paku nurses her own bowl, while her brown eyes stare across the other side of the room, towards the wall with the big map. "He hasn't moved for hours."
A dark figure seats in front of the map, his head forever tipped back. By now, he probably has the entire thing memorized, all the cities and small provinces, the rivers and lakes indicated there. He has some untouched food and drinks beside him. Ever since Valtiel and Feitan were abducted a week ago, he has not slept more than a few minutes.
Chrollo's mind is an endless blur of panic and calculations. He never stops thinking about Valtiel, in some filthy jumpsuit, surrounded by the most disgusting and perverted criminals—not including the Troupe. The Phantom Troupe has a code, some questionable morals, maybe, but they definitely have graces. Sex offenders and drug addicts on the other hand?
He imagines her in some grimy cell, starved and dehydrated, perhaps even tortured for information. The guards could mess with her—there's no telling how long these men have gone without proper touch from a woman, and a woman like Valtiel at that. Her long platinum-blonde hair, captivating golden eyes, her lips when she pouts…
He bristles, well aware how his bloodthirst is leeching into the very air, wafting in their base like a stench they couldn't get rid of. If anyone, and he means anyone, touches Val…
His head drops as he fights for composure. Breathe, Lucilfer. He glares at a poor rubble not too far from him. Val is fine. She's fine, she can fight, she's with Feitan—
Then he frowns again. She's with Feitan.
Both of them. Together. He wonders if they share the same cell, the same bed, even the same shower? Is Feitan watching over Valtiel like he's supposed to? Now that she is officially Chrollo's partner, does Feitan think his loyalty towards Chrollo must now extend to Val? He has so many questions that add up to his already winded mind.
Suddenly, in the dark of the night, Phinks's phone blasts a loud ringing tone.
Gruff and irritated from their lack of progress, the blond Spider picks up the call and—
"FEITAN!"
Everyone flinches from their seats and looks at Phinks's bewildered face. He is clearly in a panic, ranting questions, stumbling over the words as the others scramble towards him, itching to hear from the other line. Chrollo, despite his worry, manages to carry himself with enough grace to not stumble on his feet.
At the same time, Phinks is snatching Shal by the shirt and yells the club's name and city into his ear. Shalnark manages to look it up on his laptop, nodding in confirmation.
"Phinks." The leader's voice comes in a whisper. Despite the loud ranting, the base falls into a hush. He steps forward, one hand outstretched. "May I speak with Val please?"
"Danchou wants to speak with Val," the Spider says tersely and passes the phone to him.
Chrollo feels the weight of the phone as he presses it against his ear. He closes his eyes—he could almost see her all battered and exhausted from the prison. His chest is seized by a sudden sharp pain at the image.
On the other line, Valtiel is not speaking, as if disbelieving that after eight days and twenty hours and some godforsaken minutes, she is hearing his voice again.
"Valtiel?" he murmurs, the longing evident in his tone.
"Danchou," she returns in the softest little whisper.
His knees go quite weak to hear her voice again. Oh, how he missed her.
Her kiss had been soft, almost lazy, and Chrollo didn't push her too much. Judging from the thick layer of dried blood on her skin and jumpsuit, even on her hair, she and Feitan had one hell of a fight against the submarine's forces. He had carried her in his arms, his sleeping beauty, and arranged for several different fake hotel rooms and accommodations.
And now, it has been twenty-three hours since their last kiss.
He sits by the edge of the bed, one hand on her pillow. His other hand cradles a small book to occupy himself as the silence stretches on. Valtiel is still sleeping, faint breaths that send Chrollo inching forward to make sure she's breathing. When he is sure she is, he relaxes, shoulders dropping, frown melting.
Machi, Pakunoda and Shizuku were tasked to take care of Valtiel. Tended her wounds, washed the blood and grime and sweat from her body, rinsed her hair, changed her into a soft nightgown. Machi left a few extra painkillers and some bandages in case Valtiel misbehaves and opens up any stitches. Chrollo had to sigh at that one.
It has been four hours since the last Spider, Bonolenov, visited to make sure everything is okay.
Worried that she has been sleeping for too long, Chrollo discards his book and sinks onto the mattress, pressing his chest against her back. His lips press gently on her temple, then slide down to whisper in her ear.
"Time to wake up, Val."
She shudders in her sleep, moaning from the soreness in her body. Extra sleepy golden eyes flutter open, blinking a few times and registering his face to her brain.
She growls low in her throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now."
He is curious about what happened in the prison. His lips quirk, amused at the threat. "Because whatever you try to do, I can dodge it. Additionally, I am faster, stronger, smarter. And I have more battle experience than you do."
"Min Gud, I was being sarcastic," she hisses in a foreign language. Chrollo grins—he knows he is really getting under her skin when she starts speaking in a different tongue.
He grins wider. "Yes, and because you've been sleeping for twenty-three hours and you haven't eaten anything since, young lady."
"I said give me one reason, Father. You listed, like, thirty-eight."
"Exactly. Now get up."
"Mm, no."
"Come now."
"I'm so tired, Danchou. Five more minutes."
"No."
Stubborn, Chrollo pries the blanket off her and completely tosses it off the bed. Before she could fly at him with her claws for interrupting a well-earned sleep, he pins her on the mattress, her wrists pinned to the sides of her head, and he puts his entire weight on her. He snickers down on her as she blinks her sleepy eyes but still manages to hiss at him.
She lets her eyes adjust from the dim light in the room, and frowns. "Sometimes I hate you."
He chuckles and leans down for a quick, apologetic peck on the nose. "I know."
"What time is it?"
"It's past three in the morning," he says and lets go of her. He settles on the other side of the wide bed with a slight bounce. "You're quite dauntless whenever you sleep."
"I earned it." She sits up and scratches at her eyes and belly.
Her eyes are still heavy and her head thumping from the aftermath of the escape. Limbs heavy. Legs sore from running. Really, she should be sleeping an entire day if not for the smug bastard seated next to her, peeping roguishly at her with his dark eyes.
With an effort, she looks around the room and realizes that they are not in the small club she and Feitan had found earlier. Instead, the room is massive, luxurious, with heavy velvet curtains and carpet, a set of couch and table in the corner, and a bathroom. The light inside the room is warm and orange, from the two sets of lamps on either side of the bed.
The bed itself speaks tones: king-sized, many layers of blankets, an army of pillows. The headboard is polished mahogany carved in the shape of an ancient tree surrounded by its roots. She feels for the softness of the mattress, of the warmth of the pillows, and she would have collapsed back to sleep if not for Chrollo's hand tugging at her. She shoots him a glare.
There it goes—the polite, innocent smile.
With a frown, she eases herself off the bed, wincing at her sore muscles. Her toes wriggle over the plush carpet, and she stretches her arms high above her head, then runs her hands down the length of her borrowed clothes—a pale roseate off-the-shoulder nightgown, with thin silk ribbons at the throat.
As always, Chrollo looks up and lets his dark gaze roam over her appearance. The nightgown makes her pale skin flush rosier. He stands up and holds out an arm for her. He missed her, more than his words could describe. He pulls her back to the edge of the bed with him, perching her in his lap and tipping his head back for her.
"Tell me you missed me," he murmurs against her mouth.
"What makes you think I missed you?" she huffs ungraciously.
She would not tell him how much she pined for him every day. Her every waking moment in the prison, in that small and cold bed, she reached out for him. She would not tell him that she whined to Feitan every meal about how much she missed him, or how often she had to shake herself awake from her constant daydreaming of his face and smiles.
"I was so worried about you," he says, a bit offended by her words. Only Valtiel could be so bold to snap at him. Not even Hisoka would dare. He buries his nose in the crook of her neck. "Don't leave me again, sweetheart."
He really missed her. He missed holding her like this. He couldn't help it anymore.
His hand weaves through her hair and guides her head down, for a long-awaited kiss. Valtiel sighs against his lips and it goads him on, prying her mouth open, deepening their connection. He grabs at her hips, grinding her down to him, as he himself teasingly thrusts up, earning a delicious gasp from her.
She pulls back. Something else in her eyes flicker. A softness that is naturally hers, that always draws Chrollo towards her. A glint of worry as well. His eyebrows furrow at that.
"Where is Fei-san? Is he all right?"
Chrollo senses more than a simple worry in her. He mulls over his words for a moment, and lets the idea go. For now. His arms tighten around her.
"He's fine," he says. "I left him with Machi, Shalnark, and Phinks. His wounds were stitched and I believe he is resting. Those three won't let him go anywhere."
"I see," she says, voice faint. "That's good to know."
"Are you worried about him?"
"It's my job to worry about everyone. Everyone's so reckless no one ever stops to worry."
"But are you worried about him?" he specifies.
"Of course," she says levelly. "We had a rough week."
"And so he says. Feitan told me everything."
"Everything?" At once, her blood feels cold.
He watches her reaction, finding something else. "Why, yes. He told me you were bored and you were complaining so much about the food." He chuckles. "Was it that bad?"
She moans at the painful memory. "Yes! There was chicken and fish on the first day, but the rest of the week there was nothing but vegetables! And we did nothing all week but eat and sleep—"
"But, Valtiel, that's what you always do."
"I know, but—" She glares at him when he starts grinning again. "Stop that."
"Stop what?" He blinks, innocent, running his hands over her thighs.
"You're teasing."
"Because I missed you," he sighs dejectedly. "Did you never miss me?"
"No," she says with a frown. She will not give him that satisfaction.
A knock on the door stops their banter. Chrollo disentangles himself from her and answers the door. He returns with a massive order of food. He chuckles as they take their seats across from each other. At past three in the morning, the meal is heavy yet fulfilling. She particularly feasts on the spicy chicken and wolfs down the rice as if a woman extremely starved to death. The potato soup pools like a warm puddle in the pit of her stomach. She sips from the bowl's rim and regards the man across her with wonder.
"What's wrong?" he asks, munching on the beef.
"I was wondering if Fei-san had eaten yet."
"Wh-What?" He blinks, at a total loss with her. "Feitan?"
"He barely touched any food when we were in the prison. He seemed very apprehensive about eating. I sure hope he has eaten anything by now."
"Feitan is fine. He is being taken care of as we speak." He leans back on his chair and tilts his head to the side again. She has her knees tucked to her chest, the skirt angled downwards, and showing off the pale skin of her thigh. "You seem to be very particular about Feitan tonight."
"Someone has to," she says without much thought. "And I was wondering what happened to the submarine after you arrived. What did the Troupe do when we were gone?"
"We regrouped." He welcomes this change in topic. He doesn't know what to feel about Valtiel caring too much about Feitan. He tells her everything that happened in the last week.
"You should have seen it, Danchou," she gushes about the Leviathan. "It was very stunning, with a strange sort of interior. I think you would have enjoyed it."
"It does sound interesting." He smiles kindly. "I was told you had to push your way through the guards." He reaches out with his fork, before she could finish the beef. "Did you kill everyone you came across?"
"You told me I fight to kill. I did what I thought would have been helpful in our situation."
"What was it like? Killing in great numbers?" he wonders, gauging the way her face darkens and her golden eyes flitting once to his face, and then down to her soup.
She is ashamed, he knows. She is ashamed to have been cornered in a situation where she has no other options but to kill. Fight or flight. Kill or be killed. As always, she chooses the best choice despite going against her morals.
He decides to push on further, his voice very husky. "What was it like to massacre?"
Golden eyes flash furiously at him. She presses her lips, her jaw set and tight. She would not fall into his taunting. "I did what I had to do to survive," she repeats. "And to help Fei-san."
Nodding, Chrollo concedes to the terse answer. "So you did," he agrees. He would not let his disappointment be obvious. He half-expects her Scarlet Eyes to flash from the provocation, but alas. "I am proud."
"And what happened to the Leviathan we left behind?"
He laughs at this. "We arrived nine hours late. The Leviathan prisoners managed to free themselves. It was already chaotic—thousands of prisoners everywhere, ransacking the city, terrorizing the port and the stations for means of escape. But when we arrived, the Leviathan itself was already gone from the Zaban City docks. Shal tried tracking it down. It appears a group of Hunters came in and manned the prison again. The police force and other Hunters are currently overwhelmed by thousands of prisoners that they would not be bothering themselves with two supposed Phantom Troupe members anytime soon."
She hums. "So just like that? They're gone?" Her heart skips a beat. So Cas escaped.
They talk about King Solomon's treasures afterwards. Chrollo is proud that they have managed to find every single treasure, and he plans to send Pakunoda, Shizuku, and Bonolenov to auction them off somewhere in Azia.
"So now what?" she asks.
"Then we scatter, like we always do. Mind our own businesses until the next mission."
"Oh, I see."
"Is there anything you want to do?" After a week of worry, he wants to spoil her again.
"There's something I want to research," she begins, tone mild and persuasive. He sits back and waits. She shifts on the chair, aware of the intensity of his eyes on her. "I mentioned before, back at the lighthouse, that Fei-san speaks another language. I am quite curious to know more about it, so I would like to take my time studying this language, whatever it is."
"Why would you want to learn Fei's language?"
"I believe learning his native language is a key to understanding him better," she explains, beaming at him. "Fei-san has difficulties expressing himself because one: he is naturally distant from other people; and two: there is a language barrier between him and us. It would not do well to force him to speak ours while we don't know his. And learning a new language should be fun, wouldn't you say?"
"No one has ever considered that," he murmurs, hand on his chin. "I mean, I am aware Feitan has another native tongue that he so much prefers, but no one ever asked him about it. No one is really so curious about his past before he stumbled upon Meteor City."
He weighs the options his beloved laid out for him—the chance to learn more about Feitan personally and the chance to learn. He nods to himself.
"All right. That sounds like a good plan, but where would we start? Feitan would refuse to answer our questions."
"As long as we know what the language is, we can start from there."
"I heard the name before, but I forgot." He sighs, combing his fingers through his hair. "I suppose we can ask someone else that is not Feitan. Phinks might know, or Shalnark."
"Let's ask Shal-san," she suggests.
The green-eyed Spider arrives with a knock. He smiles at the sight of the both, seated at the table with the remnants of their dinner.
Chrollo waves him over with a hand. "We have a favor to ask, but you cannot tell Feitan. No one from the Troupe must know, Shal."
Shalnark makes a crossing gesture above his heart. "Cross my heart and hope to die!"
Valtiel directs Shalnark towards the king-sized bed, while Chrollo remains, watching passively, from the table. Then Shalnark's bright green eyes light up at the realization of the favor, at the excitement of doing something behind Feitan's—of all people—back. It is the most scandalous little secret, shared only between them three.
The younger Spider sets to work in his laptop, typing away while his Hunter License is at arm's length away. He knows what the language is called, Toryuhun, born around fifteen hundred years ago and slowly died out until only three centuries ago due to the extensive travelling of its native speakers and constant warring periods in the country, eventually being forgotten by its later generations.
According to Shalnark, his hypothesis is that Feitan's mother, who spoke Toryuhun only to her son, must have been one of the offspring of a native. The ancient blood dried up, and the ancient language cast aside for more modern, contemporary tongues.
As they immerse themselves in the task, Chrollo continues his vigil.
Shalnark and Valtiel could pass as brother and sister. If he does not know better, he would have seen someone else in Valtiel's place now. But he could not afford thinking back to her; that someone else has long been dead, crumbled to dust in a shallow grave in the world's largest junkyard city.
They are alike somehow, Valtiel and this someone else. Same blonde hair and pale skin, same piercing eyes, and a flash of temper. They both know how to think on their feet, despite the situation going against their beliefs. If Chrollo sees her in Valtiel, is it the same with Feitan? Does Feitan see her in Valtiel, young and thriving and so full of life while their friend had rotted in her grave with half a head left?
"So far, the Hunter Website lists only three books dedicated to the Toryuhun culture," Shalnark tells Valtiel, ignorant of the sudden melancholia of his leader. "I am going to write down the book titles and the libraries where you can find them," he says to them both, scribbling on a notepad.
"Would you come with us?"
"Nah." Shalnark stands up and cradles his laptop on the way back to the door. He pauses by the threshold, one hand around the doorknob. "I wouldn't want to get in-between a couple newly come together," he says, winking in Chrollo's direction.
The Danchou smirks. How thoughtful of his Spider to think about it. Sometimes he wonders if the Phantom Troupe has forgotten all about him and Valtiel. Though Hisoka certainly has not; that magician rubs it into Chrollo's face every time Hisoka could catch Valtiel's attention.
"Plus, I really hate third-wheeling," Shal adds with a grin. "I do it more often than not with Phinks and Feitan, you know."
Author's Notes: Welcome back, everyone! I tried to update as soon as I can before we all get busy for the holidays.
On to this chapter, Chrollo and Val are back together again! Danchou being all worried and angsty while Hisoka is practically useless is my aesthetic. Poor Danchou being touch-starved for the entire week, too. Somebody give him a hug! And by somebody I mean Val (and probably more than just a hug, I guess).
I really want to thank everyone—and I mean everyone—who read, left reviews, reread, waits patiently for updates, throughout the entire year! You guys are amazing and I would die for you. Thank you for all the support; I know it has been a tough year for all of us, and your every bit of kindness to everyone helps! ❤️
Just a head's up: this will be the last Pandæmonium chapter for this year, but(!) I am publishing a Christmas mini-story titled "Hieme Araneærum". It takes place in the same universe as this one, and revolves around the Phantom Troupe celebrating their usual holiday traditions. It will be a five-part mini series (more details in the story itself), so go check it out when you have time and let me know what you think! 🎄 ️